Entangled Alliances 3: A New Look at an Old Foe
by SheriAnn
Summary: Bridger and company discover just who is in charge . . . and the discovery isn't pretty.


_Disclaimer: This is an amateur work meant in no way to infringe upon the rights of Amblin Entertainment or the Sci-Fi Channel. Lucas Wolenczak, Nathan Bridger, seaQuest, etc., are all the sole property of Amblin Entertainment and its cohorts in Hollywood. The Non-Allied Powers are the products of this author's own deranged mind, as is the Ulysses . . ._

_Alternative Reality: some elements have been changed from canonical tradition. For example, Lucas Wolenczak graduated from Stanford with an M.S. in Artificial Intelligence, as well as a subject concentration in physics/mathematics. Some dates may appear suspiciously outside canon. In addition, because of the Non-Allied Powers (situated in a place called "Dominia," another element outside the seaQuest canon), this work can be seen as an Alternative Universe piece._

_Sequel: "Entangled Alliances" is a sequel to--yeah, you guessed correctly--"Entanglements with the Enemy." Let me know what you think of the new title (it used to be "More Entanglements with the Enemy"! I'd love to hear them!_

_Rating:**PG-13**, rated as such because of some adult themes and language._

_Summary: Lucas plays boom-boom once again with his vortex. The only real question is . . .who is his enemy? :-) _

_Copyright 1999 by SheriAnn_   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Entangled Alliances   
Part Three   
A New Look at an Old Foe

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Nathan Bridger felt every muscle in his body stiffen with tension. The muscles of his face were so tautly drawn that slowly, almost uncontrollably, he could feel a muscle in the corner of his left eye twitch, twitch, twitch--as if in tune to his heart beat. His fingernails dug into his palms as his teeth ground against one another.

The silence dragged between them, an almost palpable, living entity.

"Well." At last, the silence collapsed as a voice, its words frigidly cutting against Bridger's ears, spoke its soft, sinister tones. "It's good to see you again, Captain."

Bridger felt his jaw would snap from the pressure. His eyes narrowed, seeming to draw the darkness towards them. They were dark pits set in a carved, angry face. The silence continued as he refused to speak.

"Of course, the last time we saw each other was under . . . somewhat different circumstances."

The man continued walking into the room, glancing swiftly at the rest of his audience. He smiled slightly at Kristin. "Doctor. So good to see you."

He ignored the flash of eyes blazing a hole through his chest. Instead, he looked at Lucas. "Ah. Mr. Wolenczak. We meet at last."

Warily, Lucas eyed him. He glanced from Bridger's smoldering countenance to their captor's emotionless, unreadable eyes. He shifted, heart beating an unsteady rhythm as his nerves jumped frantically. Muscles tensed, he was poised to flee: the prey confronting its hunter.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing, General?" Bridger finally snapped. He moved in front of the General, who was even then moving towards Lucas. "You'd better have one damned good reason for this--an explanation that stands the sight of God himself--for this one. Damn it, General, it had better be so blasted airtight . . ."

Slowly, General Thomas turned, staring at Bridger. He suddenly smiled: a twisted, almost nonexistent twitch of the lips. "I'm not sure you're in the position to tell me what to do, Bridger."

Eyes narrowing against a pale, strained face, Bridger moved towards the man . . . then stopped, foot midair. As if the foot were made of lead, it thumped to the ground. His eyes shifted from Kristin to Lucas, then back to Thomas. Hell, the man had a point. Curse his useless hide, he had a point!

"Good. You now see the obvious." Thomas moved back towards Lucas, his gaze never leaving Bridger. "As long as you're here, Bridger, this is my game. Not yours. Keep that in mind." He smirked. "Don't get any of your usual bright and heroic ideas, either. I have several armed men outside this door. I'm also more than happy to demonstrate my combat skills on you . . . or your companions, for that matter." 

Bridger's eyes narrowed. He'd been wondering about this. He knew Thomas was well known for his ability in hand-to-hand combat, but he also knew he was an ace marksman. Put together, the odds weren't incredibly in their favor, especially since Thomas seemed more than prepared for any stupid moves Bridger might make.

Bridger's attention remained riveted when Thomas added in an almost off-hand tone, "It would be most unfortunate, of course, if the _seaQuest_ were to lose its captain . . . or its computer analyst and physicist, for that matter."

The threat was clear. Even through the rage currently tearing headlong through his mind, Bridger could see the meaning lurking behind Thomas's words.

The smirk widened. Thomas placed his hands behind his back, looking much like a drill sergeant confronting a rather confused recruit. "Mr. Wolenczak, I've been wanting to meet you. I hear you've done some interesting things lately."

Lucas stared at him, again nervously looking towards Bridger. Nathan could only look back with sympathy, knowing that if he moved, if he even tried to help, he could only make things worse. He crossed his arms over his chest, clamping his hands tightly over one another to keep himself from attacking.

"I have some . . . issues I'd like to discuss with you, Mr. Wolenczak." 

Lucas stared at the General. Issues? Was that some grand euphemism for "classified information I'd like to blackmail you for"? Did Thomas truly hope to hide behind empty euphemisms--did he truly think him naïve enough _not_ to understand the implications of what was happening? 

Really, who the hell would drag a captive to a dark room like this out in the middle of nowhere, proceed to threaten his companions, then say he'd merely like to discuss some "issues" with him?

Eyes darting several directions, Lucas started slowly backing away from the General. But Thomas suddenly grabbed his arm. "_Now_, Wolenczak." He wrenched Lucas towards him, pulling his arm in an awkward, unnatural angle. Lucas quickly followed, eyes widening as pain clearly marked his features.

In a blur, Bridger reached for the teenager . . . but froze as a pistol materialized from somewhere on Thomas's left side. Bridger watched in horror as the pistol pointed at him before turning to Lucas's head.

"Ah-ah-ah, Captain. Not a move, please." Thomas smiled slightly. The smile widened as he felt a tremble rocking through Lucas's shoulders. By Bridger's concerned glance, he could tell that Bridger had seen this tremor, too. "We wouldn't want any accidents, now, would we?"

Bridger studied Thomas's calm face, his fingers aching to grasp the General around his stubby little neck. His fists clenched. God, he'd kill the bastard. He'd kill him. If he hurt either of his charges--Doctor Westphalen or Lucas--he'd strip that falsely smiling General of the sneer brimming across his face so quickly he couldn't count even one hellish nanosecond.

Thomas's brows rose, and he dipped his head. "Very good. I see you have at least an ounce of wisdom in that head of yours." He glanced between Westphalen and Bridger, seeming to measure their frame of mind. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave you, Captain."

Bridger tensed, but remained motionless. There wasn't a thing he could do. If he moved, he'd most likely get one of them killed.

He watched helplessly as Lucas was drawn towards the door. Several times, the General had to literally drag the boy. He then forced his anger down as Thomas flourished a mock bow at him. "Well . . ." he finally said, reaching the door. "We'll see you later. Please . . . make yourselves at home. I'm sure you'll find the floor quite comfortable."

With that, he knocked sharply against the door. A muffled voice replied. Bridger watched with interest as numbers--seemingly nonsensical to his ears--exchanged between Thomas and the unseen man on the other side. After several seconds' silence, the door clicked open.

Lucas looked with frightened eyes at Bridger before allowing himself to be shepherded into the hallway and away from his friends' worried eyes.

The door shut behind him.   
  
  
  
  
  


***** 

  
  
  
  


Watching as Lucas was forcefully dragged from the room, a gun to the boy's head, Bridger struck his fist against the wall . . . wishing it would shatter, scream, break apart . . . anything to help ease his _anger_. How could this happen? How the _hell_ could this happen with him in the damned car in the first place?

Bridger was supposed to protect Lucas. He was supposed to keep harm from him--not walk him right to its very door!

Breathing unsteadily, Bridger squeezed his eyes shut; his body slumped against the wall. He kept seeing Lucas: his eyes wide, the pistol pointed at his head, Thomas's controlling hands on his arm. Lucas trusted _him_ to keep these disasters away. The teen trusted _him_ to protect him. Damn it, he had failed Lucas. Again, as on the _Ulysses_, he'd failed the boy . . . and God alone knew what would now happen because of that failure.

On the _Ulysses_, Lucas had been almost blown apart by his own sabotage. He'd then almost been beaten to a pulp by the mad Captain Brigg. He'd been tortured with Diphorline-Pyroxine, an experience Bridger wouldn't wish on his worst of enemies . . . let alone Lucas. Bridger suddenly snorted. Yeah, some protection he was.

Now there was . . . this. _This_. 

Again, Bridger slammed his fist into the wall. He ignored Kristin as she gently placed her hand on his shoulder, his mind spinning through a mental hell of self-loathing.

And then there was the matter of their captor: General Thomas.

This was General Frank Thomas, the thrice-decorated and glorified head of the Pentagon. He was the best and brightest of both the UEO and the Pentagon. His word was the Voice of God in the military. He was next in line, according to rumor, for presidential nomination.

He was also their captor.

The idea nauseated him. It was bad enough they'd tried to force him into attacking and killing his one-time friend Max Scully. It was bad enough that Washington, D.C., was still the proverbial teeming nest for political vipers. It was damned _bad enough_ that the UEO couldn't sort its allies from its enemies! But _this_? Surely they weren't so stupid that they didn't _see_ the corruption currently sitting in a nicely decorated office in the Pentagon!

Somehow, though, he knew that they had missed the obvious signs of corruption. Though Bridger had himself been uncomfortable with General Thomas from day one, he'd never suspected--not in a million years--that Thomas was rotten. He'd never suspected Thomas of criminal activities: just of ruthlessness. On top of that, he'd never suspected Thomas of being mentally unbalanced; however, given the General's behavior, he wondered if the man was truly insane.

Now, though, he supposed that ruthlessness and criminal activities weren't too far apart in the first place.

Ruthlessness wasn't a pretty word. And right now, it was even uglier than normal as Bridger wondered just what sort of ruthlessness Thomas had in store for them.   
  
  
  
  
  


***** 

  
  
  


Lucas felt like he was in a maze. Halls blurred past him, twisting in and out of his sight. If he'd had the fortunate opportunity to escape at that moment, Lucas figured it would have been nearly impossible. He would have gotten lost before he could find the dratted exit.

However, Lucas was pretty sure escaping wasn't really a possibility in the first place. There was General Thomas, so nicely agreeing to escort him to their destination--wherever the hell that was. There were also _his_ two escorts, who looked about as friendly as two bull dogs clawing at each other's throats. Yeah, real friendly bunch here. He also had to remember his friends; Lucas wasn't leaving without them.

They were now walking down another staircase, this one spiraling down several floors. At last, they reached theirs, about three levels down. Lucas noticed the doors here were all bolted shut, each protected by a keypad for entering passwords. These had been seen on several doors above, including the door to their own "room" (well, cell, really), but not on all of them.

Frowning, Lucas wondered what could be sealed behind those doors.

His frown deepened as numerous possibilities suggested themselves, clamoring for his attention. Let's see . . . there could be nuclear weapons behind some of the doors. But that wasn't actually too "classified" any more. Perhaps biological weapons? That sounded a little more sinister, certainly. A weapon of some sort, he thought likely. Or, at the very least, something not . . . approved by the UEO.

Well, not _officially_ approved by the UEO, that is.

One more door in front of them, and they would reach the end of the hall. They stopped at the last door. Lucas's stomach churned as he watched one of his guards tap in a code on the keypad. 

The door opened, and he was gestured inside--with the added incentive of a gun waved his direction. Swallowing hard, Lucas entered. He heard the door shut behind him with a loud, resounding _thud_.

Lucas spun on his heels. Trembles jittered through his body. 

He was standing completely alone in a barely lit room. A large desk, covered by what looked like reams of paper, stood to the back of the room. Behind its ponderous frame was a simple leather chair, one that looked like it had been battered over the years. Two chairs faced the desk.

A third chair looked like a recliner from a dentist's office.

Except this one had straps on it.

Lucas tried to swallow, but found he couldn't. Fear pinched at his chest, making his breath come in short, wheezing fits. He lifted a shaking hand to his hair, stroking it out of his face simply from reflex.

Oh, hell. Abominable hell. Lucas collapsed heavily into one of the chairs facing the desk. He didn't realize he'd been biting his lips until a dull ache started to pound through his lower lip. He felt a trickle of blood running into his mouth. Absently, he brushed the blood away.

Hadn't he been the primary prop in this scene before?

Violently, Lucas shivered. He squeezed his eyes shut as the images started pounding into his mind. The _Ulysses_, drifting towards Dominia as agents of the Non-Allied Powers tried to restart her engines. Lucas himself, starting a level nine renegade vortex . . . and hoping to God he'd live to see the damage done. Later, himself again, but this time as he was crawling through the ship . . . collapsing as a strange odor assailed his senses.

Hours, days--he wasn't sure which--later, himself staring with horror into the demented eyes of Captain Brigg. Moments later from then . . . Brigg injecting him with something that burned through his veins and made him shriek in agony.

Oh, God, no. Not again. He couldn't go through that again.

Would Thomas . . .?

Lucas froze the thought, knowing, somehow, that Thomas would.

For there could be no doubt . . . Thomas didn't have him here for Lucas's well being. And if he wanted information from Lucas, he wouldn't simply ask nicely for it.

People who simply asked nicely for information never had chairs with straps on them. They also didn't kidnap people. They also didn't drag them from their friends at gunpoint to God alone knew where for God alone knew what reason.

No, Lucas suspected that things weren't going to get any better. In fact, if he were entirely honest with himself, he suspected that things were going to get a whole lot nastier.

Damn.

Lucas closed his eyes, wishing there were a place for him to hide. But there was no place to hide here.   
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
